Words Not Heard
by FotoBridgeT2
Summary: Hotch and Emily, of course. Hotch is tired of being on the outside, is Emily his key to re-finding his place on the team? What if someone watching doesn't like the new closeness between them? H/P romance and big CASEFIC
1. Chapter 1

CRYING

He heard crying. That's what he heard first. Hotch sat up in the hotel bed and looked at the clock, noticing it was three am. Three a.m. was the time when your body was at your lowest, when you were at your weakest. Logically, he knew that.

He knew who was crying, too. Emily Prentiss. She was in the room directly next to his, they shared an adjoining room. Morgan and Reid were across the hall and Rossi occupied the room between Emily's and the stairs. They'd effectively surrounded the lone female agent on this case, and they all were well aware of _why_. Six women dead, each and everyone a dark-haired female law enforcement agent. Emily might as well have had a bright red target painted on her chest as far as the team was concerned.

Hotch knew they may be going slightly overboard to think Emily would be a target, but after everything that had happened to her lately—not a one of the men was taking even a chance. He'd yet to see her break down, had seen her offer comfort to Reid, supporting the younger man just by being with him. But Hotch had yet to see how _she _was dealing with Cyrus's actions.

He had a sneaking suspicion he was hearing that breakdown now. He didn't think, didn't even consider that of all of his team, the one most likely to _not _appreciate _him _seeing them at the her weakest was Emily Prentiss. They were colleagues and nothing more. He'd seen to that. She'd seen to that. An invisible wall existed between them that neither had seemed inclined to break down—or climb over. But the sounds of those tears were enough drown out the buzzing that had plagued him in the weeks since New York. Emily was crying, and crying hard. And for all that Hotch strove to keep that boundary between him and his subordinates, he couldn't in good consciousness, just leave her in their alone. He stood, pulled on sweats and a t-shirt and turned the knob to the adjoining door, thankful the hotel the team was in was of the shoddy side, and the door knob broken. They'd been warned on check-in that the door didn't lock, but Hotch had been fine with it. As long as it was one of the team with such easy access to Prentiss, it hadn't really mattered.

Now it mattered to him a great deal. He found her in her bathroom, sitting against the wall and crying so hard she didn't recognize him at first. Her eyes widened and she jerked, then she realized who stood staring down at her. "Hotch."

Hotch said nothing, just reached a hand down and grabbed her elbow. He pulled her to her feet, and she followed his unspoken command. But instead of moving away or looking away or doing that retreat-behind-the-ambassador's-perfect-daughter mask he'd noticed she used to cover-up any insecurities she just stood staring at him. Just a blank look in those dark eyes.

It physically _hurt_ him to see her like that. She was always strong, he'd counted on that from her since the moment he'd realized she could take anything the job dished out. _She could take it. _His head jerked at the significance between his own thoughts. She could take it, that's what she'd told Cyrus as the bastard had reached out hands to batter her body. Hotch looked down at her and though the bruising was almost gone, he knew then that he'd never forget the sight of her with a swollen face, busted lip, black eye, or the way she had moved so gingerly.

She'd done what she had to do, the logical part of him knew that, in order to save as many people as possible—including her and Reid. She'd done what _he _would have done. But it had hurt him so much to hear her cries, to hear each thud and crash as her body was flung around like nothing. He looked at her then, as she stood in front of him just staring, her cries silent now, though the tears still flowed down her cheeks so freely. She stood barefoot, dressed in a thin t-shirt that he recognized as Derek's. He wondered idly why she had it. Her legs were encased—rather, half _not _encased in black gym shorts. And she had really long legs. He wondered why he'd never noticed before. But she was shorter than he was used to seeing her, by a good couple of inches. No boots, he realized.

It made him feel like he loomed over her, like she was small, delicate, fragile. Vulnerable. He'd never seen her so vulnerable, even last week. She'd been strong, wounded, but not so truly vulnerable.

He didn't think, just did what he would have done had they been closer. He pulled her to his chest, tucked her against him. "Hey, it's ok."

"Is it?" Her words were flat, her affect uncaring, and he hated that. Hated the basic emptiness, though he knew, of course, that it was just temporary. "I'm not sure how much longer I can do this. But I don't think I can do anything else."

"I know. I've felt the same way." And he had. "You're not alone in that, Emily."

It was the first time he'd used her first name in that manner. Usually it was just when introducing her, or in some other official capacity. But standing holding her in a sterile hotel bathroom—it even tasted different on his lips.

"I have _always _been alone." She said. She stiffened in his arms, before twisting, pulling away. Her arms crossed across her chest, and he found himself distracted by the way the soft material of Derek's shirt pulled against her chest. "I'm sorry if I woke you. I'll try not to let it happen again."

"Hey, we all have our weaker moments."

"Even you? Or do you just bury your head in paperwork? Does Derek just find another willing woman to flirt with? Does Reid find a few more books or reports to read? Does JJ just suck it all up, so as not to appear the team's weakest member? Does Garcia go buy another troll? Does Dave go to another bar and throw back Scotch like it was apple juice?"

Hotch's head went back at the pure venom in her normally modulated voice. Emily Prentiss never lost control like that. He wrapped one hand around her arm, pretending he didn't feel the way she tried to pull away from him, the way she flinched in his grasp. "Prentiss?"

She jerked fully away from him, darted around him back into the bedroom. "Sir? I'm sorry, but I just want to be alone."

"I understand." Hotch said, and he did. He knew what it was like to _not _know what to say to another human being, to not be able to put into words all the horror that vised your mind at three a.m. "But Emily—you're not alone. I'm right next door if you need me."

"Are you?" Her words were deliberately low, and he half-resented her for doing that. He knew his hearing issues weren't a secret, he knew she knew. What she didn't know was that he'd heard her. He didn't call her out on it. It wasn't the time nor the place, and she was already upset. He'd not add to that. "Somehow, sir, I don't think you are."

She looked away then, and her voice rose as she spoke again. "Thank you, sir. And good night."

Hotch left it at that.

Hotch returned to his room feeling utterly useless. She had made it perfectly clear that _his _help wasn't wanted, needed, or appreciated. He'd never thought Emily Prentiss could bite like that, or that it would matter to him if she could.

If he admitted to himself, he'd not given her much thought beyond what she could bring to the BAU's table. His own fault, his own error, he wouldn't deny that. But last week her place on the team had become clearer than glass to him, and he found himself thinking of her—worrying about her—at the strangest times. Like while lying in his bed, while driving the SUV with her beside him, while sitting in his office looking out the window at her as she sat dealing with paperwork.

After nearly two years of working with her, and Hotch knew next to nothing about her. He didn't know what she did in her spare time, he didn't know what music she liked, didn't know who she spent time with outside of work. Had he missed that much of the world around him in the last two years that a woman he trusted to have his back had registered so little of his notice?

Had he been living in a cave for those two years?

Was he destined to be like Kate, living and dying for the job, so consumed with being the best at his job that he left little room for the people around him? Was he going to take it and take it, putting everything he had into the job until it took from him all that he valued, until he just walked away like Gideon? Leaving those who cared for him behind with no explanation? Would there be anything left of him for people to care about?

Would Emily follow that same path to self-destructiveness? God, he hoped not.

How would he have felt if Prentiss—no, _Emily—_hadn't came out of that compound? Would he be lying there thinking of how he could have done something different the way he had in the weeks after Kate's death? Would he have been able to say something about Emily that didn't revolve around how much of an asset she was to the BAU?

Would he have said how she had tried until the very last to protect Reid, someone she obviously cared about? Would he have said how she knew her job, and did it very well?

Would he have seen her family—her mother—sitting in the church pew weeping, and have had anything to say to the woman about the last two years of her daughter's life? Would he have had to explain to a boyfriend or lover how _he'd _failed to keep her safe?

Was she even seeing someone? JJ and Garcia were both in committed relationships, would it be too far of a stretch to think that maybe Emily had found someone to make her happy, as well? He half hoped she had….but then again, the other half shouted a big _no _to that idea.

He lay there for a while, pondering just exactly why the thought of Emily Prentiss being with some nameless, faceless man bothered him. It took him a bit to realize he was jealous of that faceless man for getting to know so much about her. Hotch was perplexed, but he admitted it to himself with all honesty.

The thought of Emily with a man bothered him on a deep level. She was a fascinating woman, he'd learned that over a week ago—her strength and determination made her stand out far above the crowd. The fact that he hadn't noticed how fascinating she was until now just increased that fascination exponentially. How had she managed to hide it from him for so long?

She wasn't weak, didn't need protected from all of life's harsh monstrosities—but he longed to do that very thing. Just hold her close, make her understand that she didn't have to cry alone in a hotel bathroom, that she could come to him, that he'd do his very best to make the world as alright for her as he could make it.

He wove his fingers together behind his head as he lay there contemplating just where _those _wants had come from. Had it merely been the residue from that damned cult having her helpless within their midst? Had it been when he'd watched her try to reassure Reid on the plane ride home instead of her curling up in her seat and resting, like she should have? He didn't know. It was abrupt, different, confusing, and so much more-what he didn't exactly know.

But Hotch wanted to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

(_Ok, here's ANOTHER Emily/Hotch story, and I do intend to finish my other pieces, I promise, I promise, I promise...I just don't know when, since I am back at work now...meaning stories should slow down considerably...on the other hand...my script-writing is picking up immensely! Please read and review!)_

CHAPTER TWO

It was obvious she hadn't slept well. Hotch just hoped his own nearly sleepless night wasn't evident on his face. She didn't look at him, much, and when she did, her gaze held nothing but polite professionalism—a look he'd received from her on many occasions since she'd been foisted on the team.

He finally realized how much he hated that coping mechanism she hid behind. If he had his way, it wouldn't be directed at him ever again. But how on earth would he get his way? What was his way?

In all honesty, what did he want from this one particular member of his team? Did he want friendship? Something more romantic in nature?

His body tightened at that last thought and he was actually shocked to realize that was exactly what he wanted from Emily. He wanted her turning to him with that special smile she had that said she knew a secret. He wanted to share that secret with her. Taste that secret on those lips.

To be blunt, he wanted to be the lover she went home to after cases. Wanted to be the one to hold her at three a.m. when she needed to cry from the nightmares.

She sat next to Morgan, as he'd noticed she always did when she just wasn't at her best. He realized then that the man provided some sort of comfort to her. He hated Morgan then, for just a moment envying the younger agent. It was his own fault, he knew that, for always thrusting her on Morgan during her early days at the BAU. It was natural they were comfortable with each other. And if she had been wearing the other man's shirt last night, it meant nothing.

Except Hotch wanted to see her in his clothing; if she really felt the urge to wear a man's shirt—he wanted it to be _his. _She looked up at him, then, catching his eyes. He was surprised to see the flush hit her cheeks, her embarrassment as she looked away. Had she always done that or was it something new?

God, why hadn't he ever noticed her before? He'd been divorced for nearly six months, though he and Hayley had separated nearly that much time before the divorced was finalized. Had he really had his head buried for the last year where Emily was concerned? Stupid. Wasted time, and it was all his fault.

The day progressed, but they had nothing. He kept Emily in the police station, and no one was dumb enough to argue. And someone needed to work victimology, anyway. Might as well be her. It was only when he was out at the last crime scene that he began to worry what that would do to her. She'd be alone, comparing the lives of single, brunette female LEOs who'd been attacked and killed. She was bound to be affected by it, and if she wasn't it would worry him.

He made an excuse to Dave, not caring if it was a flimsy one, and returned to the bullpen. He stood just inside the door watching her for a moment, seeing the exchange between her and an officer around his own age. The man was relentless, invading her space, pushing the boundaries of what was appropriate. Hotch saw red, this was his agent, his _Emily, _and it infuriated him to see her being made so uncomfortable. "Agent Prentiss, is there a problem here?"

"No, sir. Officer Lopez was just offering to get some coffee." She looked everywhere but at him and Hotch wasn't blind to it. He strolled directly to her side and grabbed her arm firmly. "Nothing important."

"Good, can I have a word with you in private?" He asked in a calm tone.

"Of course." Her words were well-modulated, calm, and cool. He'd expected nothing less. She followed him out of the police station and around the corner. They were secluded there, next to the limestone of the building. "What's this about?"

"I wanted to apologize if I embarrassed you last night."

"No, you don't have to apologize. I wasn't in the best of moods, sir. And I took it out on you because it was convenient." Her eyes never met his, just focused on the center of his chest, as she spoke. She shivered a bit in the cool October wind. He unconsciously rubbed the bare skin of her arm, trying to share some of his warmth. He looked down at the crown of her head.

"Emily." He whispered her name as he moved just a bit closer; just to block out the wind, he told himself. "Look at me."

She did. But she hid behind another one of her masks, and he felt an extreme rush of frustration directed squarely at her. "Yes?"

"Have you always done this?"

"Excuse me?" One brow rose, arching coolly over a dark eye. "Done what?"

"Hid behind that mask." Hotch hated feeling like he was attacking her, but how else was he to get behind her well-formulated armor? "Whenever someone wants in."

"I really don't see how this is relevant. Can't we just forget it ever happened and go back to the way things were between us before? You tolerating my presence, and me doing my job? We had both gotten pretty good at that. And I thought we were getting close to being friendly colleagues by now."

"What if that's not enough for me?" Hotch demanded, taking a step forward both literally and figuratively. He didn't miss the way she stepped back until she was flush against the cool stone of the building. He stepped directly in front of her, knowing he was pushing the boundaries of what was appropriate between a supervisor and subordinate. "What if I want us to be more than friendly colleagues?"

"Are you saying you want us to be best friends? It's not happening, _sir. _You've made it abundantly clear where I stand, and while things have certainly mellowed between us in the last few months or so—I don't see your feeling changing so abruptly." Her brow was furrowed, she tried to pull away from him, but the building left little room for her. He felt perversely triumphant, having her trapped like she was.

"I can understand that." Hotch whispered the words against her hair. "But what if I told you they weren't that abrupt—at least not for me."

"I'd say you were lying. I'm a profiler, too, Hotch. I would have known." Her voice rang with a confidence that irritated him to no know end in that very moment. "There would have been a few signs."

Hotch leaned forward, forcing her back even more. He liked the way she retreated, it meant he'd disconcerted her, made her aware of him besides the avuncular way she'd been looking at him before. He wasn't just her boss, he wanted her to be aware of him as a _man. _The way he suddenly was aware of her as a woman. "I'm pretty good at masking what I'm feeling, Emily. And I want things to change between us. I'm tired of being on the outside with the team."

"You don't have the team backed against a wall, Hotch." Her hand rose to rest against his chest and he thrilled at the contact. "And you've not been on the outside, unless you've put yourself there. Reid and Morgan, JJ, Pen, even Rossi, they certainly don't see you as being an outsider—if anything, _I _was the outsider, at least at first. And if you feel that way, are you sure this is how to go about changing things with the _team?"_

His hearing might have been temporarily damaged but he wasn't deaf to the nerves rattling her voice. "Maybe I've given this a lot of thought, and I want to change things between you and I in a totally different direction. I'm tired of not being a part of the jokes, the conversations between you and the others. I'm tired of not knowing my team, of not knowing _you _most of all."

"Are you sure this is the best way to go about it?" Her voice trembled again, as her free hand rose to rest beside the other on his chest. "I don't know, Hotch. It seems a little out of character for you, don't you think?"

"What is _in _character for me?" He demanded, his head lowering just a bit, just enough to catch anything she said—or so he told himself. "I can honestly say I don't know who I've become in the last year or so. "

She surprised him then, raising one hand to trail across his cheek ever so slightly. "We all know it's been a rough one for you, Hotch. We understand, _I _understand."

Hotch closed his eyes momentarily, leaning his head into her touch. "I'm not so sure I do. I don't know if it was the divorce, Gideon leaving, or just a combination of everything…"

"Everybody breaks sometimes. Isn't that what you were trying to say last night?" She pulled her hands back and he opened his eyes, feeling strangely bereft at that loss of touch. Her eyes were clear now, no mask between them. "And I was too stubborn to listen?"

"Something like that. Except I'm not sure when the breaking started, or even why." He admitted, baring his soul to her for the first time.

"I can understand that." She sighed then, leaned her head against his chest in an uncharacteristic show of weakness, both offering and seeking comfort. He was both touched and thrilled at her action. "We should probably get back inside, the others should be back by now."

"Yes." Hotch lowered his own head, resting against the softness of her hair for just a second. He inhaled the sweet scent of warm lavender and warmer woman. One hand rose unconsciously to touch. He ghosted a hand through her hair.

It was only when he felt her shivering that he backed up. "Come on, it's cold out here."

They walked back in to the building, shoulders touching, a new closeness between them.

It didn't go unnoticed.


	3. Chapter 3

HEARD THREE

Things weren't quite as tense between them the rest of the afternoon and Hotch was eternally grateful for that. But that didn't make it any easier seeing that damned detective fawning over Emily. But he didn't say anything. It wasn't his place, yet.

But he did keep a close eye on her as he worked victimology along with her. Reid, Morgan, and Rossi were each handling individual interviews, along with a local LEO apiece, while Hotch assisted Emily in finding anywhere the women' six lives had crossed. They'd all worked different jobs in different divisions, even different agencies—police, Crime Scene unit, juvenile corrections, three different areas of law enforcement in three different jurisdictions. So far they had no obvious overlap. They'd found no common cases, no common seminars, no common grocery stores. The only thing they had was that the victims fit a physical typology. Dark hair, law enforcement of some sort, attractive, and single.

"Emily?" He said, moving to stand beside the white board. "What are the things you do in your off time? List them quickly. Don't think too deeply."

She thought a moment. "Groceries. Closest store to my apartment. Pharmacy—its in the back of the grocery store. Auto mechanic every two months for oil and maintenance. Drive a bit farther for that—I like a place where they don't speak to me as if I'm an idiot because I'm a woman. Restaurants for when I'm in a bit of a hurry. Club where I like to meet a few friends at least twice a month. Within walking distance of my apartment in case I have any alcohol. I'm not much into fast food. Everything has to be close and quick, though, because in this job I don't know when I'll have to drop everything at a moment's notice. Of course, we travel more than the victims did. I jog, when I get the chance. And it would have to be a safe place, since I'm not always paying attention to everyone around me. Well lit, not too crowded."

"What about your apartment itself?" Hotch asked, as he listed some of the things she'd said. "Why did you choose it?"

"Location. Close to the Capitol, close to work. Security is tight, others of similar backgrounds and incomes in the building. Professionals who expect nothing from me. It's an efficient place, has to be. I don't always have the time for more than that. Cleaning service comes in once a week. The victims all had apartments similar to mine, Hotch."

"Who else has access to your place?" He asked. Everyone at the table was paying attention now. Reid and Morgan wandered in, having finished their interviews and everyone paused while they sat down.

"Access to my place?" Emily narrowed her eyes in thought. "Landlord, of course. And maintenance. Cleaning service. My mother, two close friends who live in the DC area have keys, and Morgan. Garcia feeds the cat and the plants when we're out of town, so she has a key as well. That's it. More than I thought, actually. When it comes down to it."

"Reid, go over all the victims' records, get a detailed listing of everyone with the most minimum of access to all their apartments. It might not be that they came into contact with the UNSUB while on the job."

"You think its more likely they were targeted in their own homes?" Morgan asked, his hand draping the back of Emily's chair unconsciously. Hotch knew the similarities hadn't been lost on the other man. He nodded almost imperceptibly at Morgan.

"It's possible. These women were probably on a bigger alert when on the job." He looked at Emily for confirmation. "But in their homes, they'd be more relaxed, less aware."

"More vulnerable." Emily said, bluntly. "Doors would be locked, but a key would make that a moot point, anyway. And you don't always lock your door when running down the hall to the trash shoot, or even when checking the mail, I know I don't always and I definitely know better. You just don't."

Hotch's face tightened as he thought about her words. "We have a geographic profile but with the six women being from three different parts of the city, it's not showing us much of anything. Morgan, I want you to focus on connecting the two women from Queens, Emily—focus on Manhattan, and we'll have Dave focus on downtown. I'll keep on the employment connections. Reid, you'll focus solely on the apartment angle. I'll call Garcia and JJ and have them cross reference everything. With a preference for brown-eyed brunettes in law enforcement, in an area this large with this many people, we have no way of knowing where he'll strike next."

Hours later and they still had nothing. Hotch called a break, knowing the team had to eat. "We'll catch a bite and head back to the hotel. I want to get an early start in the morning."

Nobody argued. Even Reid's eyes looked a bit crossed from all the reading he'd had to do.

BAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAU

Hotch let Emily pick the restaurant, and no one complained of her choice. She led the way to the small club as if she'd been there before, and Hotch knew immediately it was the case.

Their party didn't have to wait for even a moment, just passed the long line, and approached the bouncer. Morgan's eyes reflected pure surprise, but Hotch doubted Emily even noticed. The bouncer straightened, seeing her.

"Ma'am. Good to see you."

"Hello, Phil. I have a big party this time. Eleven." She smiled at the man. "Is the back room available?"

"Of course. Go right in." The tall black man unhooked the velvet rope and ushered the BAU and the six detectives through the door.

"Uh, Em? Is there something you need to tell us?" Morgan asked as she led the way down a long narrow hall. The place was dark and chrome, metallic and neon, and screamed to everyone of money. "What's with this place?"

"This place?" She appeared startled at the question. "Oh. I own it. Part of it, anyway."

"You own it?" Rossi asked, and Hotch heard the skepticism.

"And five others. Two in St. Louis, two in Chicago, this one, and the new one in DC." Emily admitted.

"SIX." Morgan snapped his fingers. "The new one near the capitol. That's yours? I've been there a time or two, nice."

"And this one?" Reid asked.

"FIVE." Emily smirked. "Not that original, I know. But it worked for us."

"Us?" Rossi asked.

"My friends and I. Two partners. They generally handle the day-to-day of all but the DC. I have a manager that handles that. And I stop in at least three times a week, when possible." Emily slipped into the booth and Hotch immediately followed her down. It was a large table, with four curved bench seats around the circle. It shouted class to him, and it suited the woman beside him to a tee.

They were separated from the body of the club by a partition of smoked glass, which Emily soon touched. Hotch watched as the glass went from opaque to clear in nearly an instant, giving them a panoramic view of the dancing below. The live entertainment was also visible—a bluesy singer playing the piano, accompanied by a small band. As soon as the glass cleared, Hotch became aware of a red bulb above the window flickering. Two servers immediately appeared, entering two opposite doors to serve them.

"Cassandra." Emily greeted the young woman with an open, friendly smile, that the first waitress returned easily. "How are you? How's classes?"

"Great, Emily. That recommendation you wrote secured me the fellowship next fall. I'm still eternally in your debt." She motioned toward the door and two _other _wait staff appeared bearing drinks and menus. "Special is Chicken Savoy with the special House sauce that you like so well. But I can have the kitchen staff prepare anything you like."

"Don't put anyone to any trouble, Cass. I'll take the special." Emily said.

"I guessed you would." Cassandra smiled. "Should I tell Tacia you're here?"

"She's here, too? If she's not busy." Emily said, smiling freely. Hotch was surprised to see her so relaxed. "And can we get several orders of Saganaki?"

"Of course, ma'am." Cass watched with an eagle eye as the staff took the table's order. "I'll send Tacia up if she's free. And bring the appetizer myself."

After she and the wait staff the BAU men stared at Emily intently. Rossi was the first to break the silence. The six New York detectives were just silent, watching the live show beneath them. "All right, Agent Prentiss, tell us the truth—family money?"

It wasn't Emily that answered, but a softly accented feminine voice. They turned to see a petite redhead standing behind their table. Hotch was surprised, until he realized that unobtrusive service seemed to be a hallmark of this place. "Not a dime of family money. We built this place completely from the ground up."

At her left stood another woman, this one equally as small, though she shared similar coloring with Emily. "Our first club—ONE—is nothing near this upscale. It's little more than a bar, really. We each invested all our savings ten years ago, and after we'd get off work, we'd put in another ten hours at the club. But we did it. And when we had enough, we opened TWO. Then when Em transferred to Chicago, she did the same with THREE and then FOUR."

"Georgie! I didn't realize you were in town!" Emily stood, and the three women embraced.

"Yeah. My team is down below. Michael wanted to see exactly what type of establishment I ran. He's used to ONE and TWO. Which definitely don't reflect the same scale as FIVE and SIX do." The little brunette said, she held a hand out to the man closest to her. Hotch shook her hand. "SSA Georgia Dennis, St. Louis, Complex Crimes Unit."

"Under Hellbrook?" Rossi asked, familiar with the other unit. It was in the same classification as the BAU, and while it also involved behavioral analysis, it focused on the crimes that just didn't make sense in any capacity.

"You might say that." The woman snickered. Rossi looked at her inquiringly. "Hell's my fiancé. I've been on his team for nearly a year now."

Hotch started. Fraternization was definitely not something the Bureau approved of. "And you're on the same team? Still?"

"Hell refused to allow anything else. And I can say one thing about him—the man definitely gets what he wants."

That was a lot for Hotch to think about, so he pushed it aside until later. He turned to the red head, as she spoke. "Anastacia Stamios. Chicago FBI field office, Violent Crimes. In town checking on things while on medical leave."

"Tacia?" Emily asked, softly. Firmly.

"Emily. I see the bruises, girl." Tacia retorted. "Just fell off a bit of a building is all. You?"

"Religious fanatic." Emily said. "Georgie, why are you in town?"

"Case. Moron who thought taking children and selling them to the highest bidder was a good idea." Georgie said, hand rubbing her head. "Makes me seriously want to lock Mattie up with armed guards."

"How is he?" Emily asked, thinking of the seven year old.

"Adjusting. Why are you in town?" Georgie said.

"Case, of course." Emily returned to her seat, and Hotch moved slightly to give her a bit more room. Reid was on his other side and it was a bit crowded. He dropped an arm behind her, relaxing when she didn't immediately pull away. Then she was flush against him, and he smiled down at her. "Brown-eyed, brunette LEO's, so you and Eddie be on alert while in town, understand?"

"I will." Georgie said. "I guess I will see you next month in Chicago?"

"And then the wedding." Emily confirmed. "Tacia?"

"Leaving tonight. _I _don't have a fancy jet to fly around on. Georgie? Lorcan still in the St. Louis office?"

"Yeah. He's actually with us now. I forgot you two worked together in Chicago. Have you met his fiancée?"

"You're kidding, somebody managed to catch the elusive Cat?" Her words trailed off as the two women left the private room.

"Yeah, a little redhead." The brunette said, as the door closed.

"You have interesting friends." Morgan told Emily.

"That wouldn't be Deputy Director Dennis's daughter, would it?" Rossi asked.

"Only child." Emily admitted. "But that's not something that's advertised. Battle royale when she joined the Bureau."

"How did you chicks meet?" Morgan asked. Emily was a bit older than her friends, he suspected.

"Chicago field office. Then we somehow all got transferred to St. Louis around the same time to fill some spots. The CCU was in its infancy."

"She meet her fiancé then?" Rossi asked. "I hadn't heard he was engaged. Bit of a cold, intimidating one now. Didn't used to be. I worked with him a few times when he was a younger agent. Fifteen years ago. Shortly before Hotch here joined the BAU."

"No. She and I were part of violent crimes but not CCU. Don't think their paths ever crossed. If it had, it would have been horrible." Emily said. "He blamed her father for a case that went extremely sour. Took it out on her for the first eight months she was with the unit. She was ready to transfer out when an old enemy of his resurfaced. And took her as payback."

"That must have been tough for him. And I remember that case. Dennis very well might have been responsible for it going FUBARed. Girl didn't have an easy time."

"No, she didn't. He made her workday _hell, _excuse the pun." Emily admitted. "But they worked it out. They made it."

They had, and it got Hotch wondering.


	4. Chapter 4

_Starts to cross over slightly with CSI NY...for those who don't watch it, CSI NY has Mac Taylor, 50s, ex-military, natural leader. Danny Messer, bad boy/good cop type, who is in a relationship with petite country girl Lindsay Monroe. The CSIs are assisted by a homicide detective around the age of thirty or so named Donnie Flack. Stella Bonesara is a 40ish CSI of Greek origin...that's all that is necessary for this story I think...Enjoy...and please review...I've had over three hundred visiters to this story, but only twelve reviews...thank you..._

FOUR

Hotch was the first to the lobby the next morning. Nothing surprising in that, even in hotels, he was the first one ready to begin the day. Emily was second, and he was immediately concerned that she'd arrived in the lobby unescorted. "Alone?"

"Hotch. It was ten feet to the elevator, and you're right here, now." She said, irritated. "I'm perfectly fine."

"You need to be careful." He argued. "We have another victim."

"Dammit, another one?"

"This one survived." He added. "Seems the UNSUB broke into her apartment, attacked her, and her boyfriend showed up. A fellow cop."

"That means we have potential witnesses." Emily said, grimly. Hotch understood what she was thinking—it was pretty shitty that they had to have another woman attacked in order to move the case forward. But that's just the way it was. No use dwelling on it.

"Yes. Unfortunately, we also have the head of the NY crime lab ready to take over the case. Seems the latest victim is one of _his _people. Handpicked for his team and flown out here a few years ago from Montana. I'll want you to handle the interview." He said, "But I don't want you going alone. If this guy knows he hasn't succeeded, he'll potentially be watching. I don't want him seeing _you."_

"So—you or Dave?" Emily asked.

"Me. I want to meet the head of this lab, and I've been told by Sinclair that he's at the hospital with the victim. " Hotch said. "As soon as Dave, Reid, and Morgan are down here, I want them back at each of the scenes. Someone has to have seen something."

Emily didn't say anything else, just nodded. Her eyes were troubled and darker than normal, but she didn't move away from him, or pull back from the hand he'd wrapped around her upper arm. Hotch took that as a good sign. Maybe he was making progress.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Detective Mac Taylor watched the dark headed couple walking down the hallway to his CSI's hospital room and felt his gut clench in the strangest twist of remembered pain. The woman was an almost carbon copy of Clair, his wife. He'd lost her in the 9/11 attacks. He'd honestly thought he was over a good deal of the pain, but seeing this woman—who even carried herself with the same confidence that Clair had, brought it all to the forefront.

So he was uncharacteristically nervous when they entered Lindsay Monroe's room. Lindsay was up, protesting the doctor's orders that she should rest, and was standing at the window. Nothing kept the Montanan down for long, and normally Mac found her to be a ray of sunshine in a bleak profession.

"Detective Monroe? We're from the FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit." The woman said, her tones even echoing the cultured harmony that had been Clair's. This woman was surely a doppelganger. Mac looked closer, taking in the tilt of her dark eyes. It was quite the same as Clair's, but close enough. Close enough. He also saw the faintest of bruising on the _agent's _cheek, saw the swelling of a busted lip, and it made him just as angry as it had seeing Lindsay's bruises. Mac hated it when women were abused. "I'm SSA Emily Prentiss, and this is my supervisor, SSA Aaron Hotchner. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions."

"Of course." Lindsay said, her country girl accent more evident against this woman's modulated tones. She settled into the chair beside the bed she was supposed to be in. "But I don't know that I'll be much help."

The agents didn't say anything , just looked toward the two men in the room. Mac quickly introduced himself and Danny, shaking the male agent's hand, and then hers. He lingered. "Agent Prentiss."

She was younger than his wife would have been. In her mid thirties, probably. The same age Clair was when she died. Her hair wasn't curled the way Clair used to wear hers, but it was equally as dark. Mac knew he'd be thinking of this lady for a long time to come.

Something in his manner must have shown, her dark eyes narrowed on his face as she pulled her hand back. "Detective Monroe, Detective Messer, if you could just start at the beginning…why were you outside your apartment?"

"A case." The younger male said. His voice was more stereotypically New York than the other occupants, and it was tense, worried. Guilty. Mac didn't miss it, and he doubted _they _had either. Mac understood Danny's feelings. Danny saw this whole situation as him failing to protect his girl. It would take him a long time to get over that. "Lindsay was a few yards in front of me. I'd taken too long paying the cab, she climbed out before me. Then the idiot grabbed her, had her against the wall before I realized. Slammed her into it a couple of times. I…uh…heard her head hit the brick. Then I had him off of her, slammed him to the concrete. I would have went after him when he got up, but Lindsay was down. I wasn't leavin' her."

"I understand." Agent Hotchner said. Mac wondered if he did. The CSI watched as the FBI agent's eyes slid over his colleague's face. There was just the tiniest hint of something in the other man's expression that told Mac that Hotchner understood Danny's reasoning perfectly. No surprise, Mac did, too. He wouldn't have left Clair, any more than he would have any woman. But especially one he cared about. He wondered briefly if this woman was seeing anyone. "What can you tell us about the man?"

"Tall. Taller than Danny." Lindsay said. "More your height, Agent Hotchner. He smelled clean, no sweat. He was white, but he wore a hoodie, so I didn't see hair color. He never spoke. I tried to scratch him but he must have knew why I wanted to, he kept evading my nails. I wanted a good DNA sample, but I didn't get any. I think he was wearing surgical gloves."

"He was. I saw'em when I pulled his hands off Lindsay." Danny said. "So what are you doing to find this guy? What department you with anyway?"

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Hotch listened as Emily explained their team's purpose, and then as she dealt beautifully with the younger man's skepticism. The older man—whom he knew to be the head of the Crime Lab—just kept watching Emily, a peculiar expression his eyes. Hotch took a moment to study him.

He was of a military background, Hotch decided, seeing the erect way the man held himself. Single, probably a widower, though he didn't wear a ring. The man's clothes were perfectly pressed and of high quality, so he was a fastidious man. Hotch could appreciate that. He was the same way.

A pretty woman with long brown curls walked in, followed by a tall man in a tailored suit. They introduced themselves and Hotch shook each hand professionally. The woman stared at Emily openly.

Emily shot a glance in his direction, but Hotch just raised an eyebrow. He didn't understand it, either. Mac Taylor excused himself, and exited the room quickly. He looked at Emily one more time before he left, and Hotch felt himself bristling.

After the older man left, the brunette, CSI Bonesara, turned back to Emily. "I'm sorry for that. It's just you bear an extremely strong resemblance to his wife. He lost her in the Trade Center."

"I understand." Emily murmured; Hotch heard the compassion beneath her words. Hotch felt for the man. He'd felt disconcerted just seeing Kate Joyner again a few months back—her resemblance to Hayley had always thrown him for a loop. He and Hayley might have been divorced, but losing a woman was still losing a woman, and being confronted with a look alike knocked a man back some. "Detective Monroe, if you think of anything else, please feel free to call me at this number. Anytime. We want to get this guy before he hurts anyone else."

"See that you do." The tall homicide cop, Detective Flack, said as he shot a glance at his petite colleague where she sat bruised and battered in a hospital chair. "Or we'll take the case into our own hands."

"See that you don't." Hotch said, flatly. "My team is damned good at their job. Give us a chance to do it."

Hotch felt Emily place the smallest of touches to his arm, deflecting his reflexive defensive position.

Neither spoke until they were back in their SUV. Emily was the first to break the silence. "So we know he's tall, strong, and white. Which we already suspected from his choice in victims."

"We also know he probably watches his victims, learning their routines." Hotch added, as he maneuvered the vehicle through afternoon traffic. It was slow going. "And that means he's probably reasonably intelligent. He knows how to watch without being seen."

"The surgical gloves could suggest two things. A, he knows how not to leave his mark behind, suggesting he's from a law enforcement background which could tie into his choice of victims, or B, he's one of those guys who watches CBS's crime dramas religiously." Emily postulated. "Has learned enough about evidence and not leaving DNA behind to cause us a bit of grief."

"Or C. He's just smart enough to know how not to get caught." Hotch sighed. "How does he manage to blitz attack six—now seven—law enforcement agents? Detective Monroe was getting out of a cab, a cab she was sharing, mind you. So why did he attack her?"

"He's devolving. Escalating. He doesn't just want the satisfaction of hurting these women, he's starting to _need _it. But Hotch, look at the first case file. Melissa Stevenson wasn't bludgeoned as badly as the next woman. And the pattern continues. Yet Detective Monroe was grabbed, tossed down and into the side of the building repeatedly. A change in pattern? Why?"

"He must have realized once it was too late that she was not alone. Or he had another reason for rushing. Or it could have been simply that Detective Monroe was smaller than the other victims, and though she tried to fight back, she wasn't strong enough. So he had an easier time beating her." Hotch said, though his mind was running on another path. "Or maybe he just simply needed the fix, the high, from beating a woman, so he attacked her simply when he thought he had an opportunity?"

"If he stalks his victims, Hotch. That means we've got some overlap. The third and fourth attacks were done within two days of each other. And if we assume it took him longer than that to learn their routines, it means he already had his next victim picked out when he did the attacks."

"Meaning it's possible that he's chosen another target, and there is some reason he feels like he has to hurry to get to this one." Hotch said.

"So he grabbed Detective Monroe, attacked her, when he saw the chance. And now he'll go on to the next woman." Hotch could sense that she was thinking of that nameless, faceless woman, and feeling the pain that woman could very well be subjected to, unless they stopped it.

Hotch just wondered who that next woman was.


	5. Chapter 5

Emily was quiet when they got back to the Manhattan police station where they had set up shop. Hotch just watched her, seeing the way the fingers of her left hand drummed against her knee, the way she only half-heartedly smiled at Morgan's teasing Reid about a little blonde local LEO who'd been sending him sideways glances.

He watched as Dave leaned over her shoulder and spoke near her ear. He wondered what the older man had to say to her that he didn't want the rest of them to hear. Wondered why she didn't automatically pull away from Dave the way she normally did him. It took him a moment to realize he was actually jealous.

Hotch had never been jealous over a woman in his nearly forty years. And yet, within the space of two days he'd been envious of three different men for simply being _around _her. It wasn't exactly something he was comfortable with.

Hotch knew that, deep down, he was a primitive being. Seeing another man near a woman he was beginning to suspect he wanted raised all his hackles, made him ready and willing to fight to protect his interests. That knowledge was _not _something he was entirely comfortable with. He wondered briefly what Emily would do if she knew the direction his thoughts had suddenly traveled. Would she be willing? Would she want the same things, or would it merely make her uncomfortable knowing her supervisor was suddenly picturing her naked across his desk?

He nearly moaned aloud at the reaction that thought evoked. He'd never be able to look at that desk quite the same way again. Or her.

"Hotch?"

He turned sharply at Morgan's voice. He covered his inattention quickly, pretending he'd simply not heard, rather than he'd been so focused on thoughts of what was under that red sweater she wore. "Yes?"

Morgan motioned toward the doors and Hotch recognized two of the three people who'd just entered. Detectives Taylor and Flack walked on either side of an attractive brunette woman who carried herself as another LEO. As she moved closer Hotch realized she too fit the victimology.

Here was a woman fighting to protect others, and just like Detective Monroe and the other women, she could be targeted because of that fight. Just like Emily, just like Agent Dennis. Just like every other brunette with brown eyes who chose to fight. Hotch knew the truth—there was no way for them to win this war. All they could do was keep fighting and hope to not have too many casualties.

Even one was one too many as far as Hotch was concerned. He looked over toward Emily and his eyes caught hers. She stood and moved to stand at his side, as if she _knew _what was in his mind. He half suspected she did.

"Agent Hotchner." Taylor said. "Agent…Prentiss."

"Detective Taylor." Hotch said, flatly. He shifted ever so slightly in Emily's direction. He hadn't missed the way the older detective's eyes had lingered on _her. _"What can we help you with here?"

"We're here to offer any assistance you need in catching this SOB." Flack said, his New York accent causing him to bite the words out. The woman placed one hand on his arm and he visibly relaxed, but only a little. Hotch wondered at the nature of their relationship.

"How exactly did you plan to assist?" Hotch said.

"We have the premiere forensic lab in this city." Taylor said. "And a personal stake in the outcome of this case. We have more technology and more highly trained investigators than this precinct. We'd like you to take advantage of it."

Hotch stared at them for a moment. "If the need arises, we'll appreciate your capabilities, but right now we have more than just _your _personal stake to consider. We have six victims, plus your detective, spread over the city."

"In that case, we'll just make ourselves comfortable right here. Just for when you might need us." Taylor nodded to his people and they settled themselves deliberately on two of the wooden benches near the whiteboard. "Just pretend we're not here."

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Mac Taylor knew the other man wasn't happy with his words, but Mac was determined that the bastard who'd attacked Lindsay be caught and soon. He'd appealed to Sinclair to take jurisdiction but the man had failed to come through.

So they'd wait. Watch. And if they thought the FBI were mishandling the ball—they'd move in and intercept. Regardless of politics. Mac had never played politics well—hadn't Stella told him and told him that?

Agent Hotchner's team looked at their superior for direction. Mac watched as the coldly somber man nodded. He had a tough time reading the agent and wondered if his people felt the same way. The woman, Agent Prentiss, watched her boss curiously. Mac wasn't blind to the slight hint of apprehension in her dark eyes.

He wondered why her dark hair and eyes fascinated him, while Detective Angel—currently flirting with Flack—had never caught his attention in the least. Her hair was equally as dark, her dark eyes equally as deep. She was equally beautiful. But Angel didn't have what _this _woman did. It was in the way she moved, the way she watched those around her.

Mac made it a point to watch _her _while they waited. Mac liked to observe, it was what made him a good scientist. And like most red-blooded men—of any age—his favorite thing to observe was a beautiful woman.

As he watched the FBI agents work he cataloged the differences between Agent Emily Prentiss and Clair. Agent Prentiss was slightly smaller, her bone structure a little more delicate than Clair's had been. Her hair wasn't as long. Clair had preferred her hair to reach more than halfway down her back. And Clair's had curled naturally, like Stella's, whereas this woman's was straight.

Agent Prentiss was of a more serious nature, something Mac associated with her choice of profession. It was obvious this woman had seen a lot. Clair had been of a more playful demeanor. She'd liked to tease, liked to play with him, especially. Had told him he needed brought of his shell. Lindsay reminded him of Clair in that respect. The diminutive Montanan had that same playful nature.

Mac would have to say Agent Prentiss was more like Stella in personality. That cool, determined, resolved survivor mentality that was common to women who'd been through hell. Mac wondered what Emily Prentiss had been through to give her that aura. To make her seem so…sad.

He spent nearly two hours watching the woman from his spot in the corner. As he watched he stopped seeing Clair in her, and began to realize what a fascinating woman she was in her own right. She began to look less and less like his dead wife, and more like a woman he'd definitely like to get to know better.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

"Hotch?" Morgan said nearly three hours after the crime lab detectives had first arrived.

Hotch looked up from where he sat beside Emily pouring over victim records. "Yes?"

"How long they going to sit there staring?" Morgan jerked his head toward the detectives.

"I don't know. But I'm about ready to call for a lunch break for us." Hotch said.

"Good, man. Maybe when we come back they'll have found something else to do." Morgan shot a glare toward the older of the three detectives. The man, Taylor, didn't look away. Hotch found that interesting. The New York detective made no secret about watching the team. Hotch had also noticed how the man's interest seemed to lie directly with Emily rather than the entire team. He wondered if it should concern him.

"They're worried." Emily said, moving between the two of them. "And angry. I think they all feel a bit protective of Detective Monroe."

"I think we can all understand that." Dave said, eying the lone woman in _their _midst. Hotch didn't miss the way Emily resisted rolling her eyes.

"_Et_ _tu_, Dave?" She said. "I am a fully trained agent, you all know that, correct?"

"It's always wise to be cautious." Morgan said.

"And how much caution were you exhibiting by jumping on a moving train?" Emily demanded. Morgan didn't respond. "Come on, Derek. I'm hungry."

"And bossy." The man said, as he moved close enough to bump Emily's shoulder. "After Hotch's job?"

"Keeping you in line is a two person job," Emily snickered, looking at the man she partnered with the most. "I don't think even Hotch is up to the challenge alone—and I don't see Garcia here. Somebody has to do it."

Hotch unconsciously moved to her other side, with Reid and Dave slightly behind them, the team effectively had Emily boxed in from every side. As they approached the elevators, Hotch threw a look over his shoulder at the New York detectives, his gaze meeting that of Taylor. He didn't miss the speculation in the other man's eyes as he watched Emily.

It didn't sit right with Hotch. He raised one hand and rested it on Emily's back, moving even closer. She looked at him, distracted, casual, not paying much attention to Hotch as she teased with Morgan. She smiled at him, and Hotch literally felt the band tighten around his chest as she just as casually stepped closer to _him. _She was now tucked close to _his _side, pressed near to him, walking with him as if that was exactly where she belonged.

If Hotch admitted to himself, that was what he was beginning to suspect he wanted.

His eyes met Taylor's as they passed, and Hotch unconsciously lifted his lip in a snarl of territorial possession. His fingers flexed on Emily's back. She looked up at him, curiosity mingling with the awareness that had been in her gaze since he'd backed her against a stone building just a day earlier. This time she smiled again, a more intimate expression than ever before. She took a step closer to him, he echoed the move, and then _they _were walking shoulder to shoulder.

Hotch knew Mac Taylor didn't miss it.

A dark-haired man stood watching from the corner of the precinct, rage and jealousy in his gut, as the woman left the precinct in the midst of her teammates. And he planned.

(Updates are gonna be slow, but they will come—I promise!)


	6. Chapter 6

WORDS NOT HEARD: CHAPTER SIX

Lunch was an escape they all needed. Hotch slipped into the booth directly beside Emily, pressing his body against her smaller one. She didn't pull away.

Of course, she didn't move closer, either. Still, she was pressed against him, and he was determined to enjoy it while taking some time to probe his feelings. Hotch never did anything on a personal basis with out some serious consideration beforehand.

And before he messed with the dynamics of _his _team, he'd give it careful consideration. If he was brutally honest, he'd call that consideration _scheming. _Hotch was one hell of a strategist, and on this level, strategy would definitely be what was needed. In the meantime, he'd focus on solving the case, and letting Emily know fully how he felt about their shifting relationship.

Lunch was all too brief, and they soon climbed back into the SUV to return to the precinct. They'd just parked and started climbing out when they heard a strange popping sound.

They all knew what that sound meant. They'd heard enough gunshots to be able to instinctively identify the sound.

Thankfully the SUV was big enough for them to take quick cover behind it.

All but Prentiss and Rossi—who were on the passenger side. The direction where the bullets had come from. They were pinned between the SUV and the vehicle parked next to it. More bullets rang out, but the team couldn't identify where they were originating.

"Hotch!" Rossi yelled. "Hotch!"

"Yeah?" Hotch yelled back. "You two alright!"

"No! We're coming to you!" The older man's voice held just the smallest tinge of panic that had Hotch's gut tightening. He heard the sounds of someone on the pavement, moving slowly around the front of their vehicle, near the wall of the parking garage. Whomever it was, they were semi-protected by the vehicles and by the stone wall.

Emily was in the front, Rossi physically between her and the line of fire. Hotch soon saw why. Bright red covered her. He knew instinctively what it was.

"Where was she hit?" He demanded, moving to help the two settle against the SUV's side. His hands immediately rose to pull hers away. She held her gun in her right hand, and she surrendered it to Rossi's hand. "Emily, sweetheart, I need you to let me see."

"Dammit, Hotch! It hurts when I move my hand, so I think I'll just leave it here…if you don't mind." The humor was evident in her tone, but her words were rasped out.

"I know. Just let me see." He kept his own tone firm, but gentle. His hands were even more gentle. Her white sweater was ruined, the bullet hole huge and gaping. He gently pulled the cotton over her shoulder, pausing when her breath rushed out in an audible groan of pain. "Come on, sweetheart. Just let me see if it was a through and through."

"I think it was." She said, squirming under his attention and trying to look over her shoulder at her back. To check for herself. Woman had definite control issues.

"Morgan! Any clue where this guy is?" Hotch yelled, turning toward the man three feet away. Reid and Morgan were covering them while they tended to Emily.

"Not a clue! Could be behind any of those four vehicles there!" Morgan replied. "How's Em?"

"Capable of answering for herself!" She replied. She was trembling, shock and blood loss affecting her. Hotch removed his suit jacket and wrapped it around her uninjured shoulder.

"I don't think it hit anything vital, but I'm no doctor." Rossi said, "I'll try to get to the trunk, get the first aid kit."

"I don't think that will be necessary." Reid said, nodding in the direction of the garage's entrance. A team of swat were swarming in. "Cavalry has arrived."

It was over in less than three minutes for the team. For the SWAT it had just begun.

Morgan and Rossi dealt with the leader of the SWAT team when it became apparent that the shooter was no longer in the structure. He'd apparently high-tailed it out when they'd been seeing to Emily.

Hotch had accompanied Emily to the hospital.

So he didn't know that the shooter escaped.

Or that it was Mac Taylor's CSI team sweeping the police parking garage for signs of the man who could get into a secure building, avoid security cameras, and shoot an FBI agent.

CSINYCRIMINALMINDSCSINYCRIMINALMINDS

Mac Taylor led his team—minus Danny and Lindsay—into the parking garage on 45th. Sinclair had had a call about a shooter in a police garage. Sinclair was angry that someone had gotten into a secure building.

Flack met him at the entrance. "Mac, man. They shot at the FBI on Lindsay's case."

"Was anyone hit?" Mac asked, as a dark-eyed woman flashed into his mind.

"Yeah. The girl." Flack said, slowly. He'd heard Stella saying how much Agent Prentiss looked like Mac's wife.

Mac's face became even more inscrutable. "She ok?"

"Probably will be. Her superior took her to Mercy Hospital. The rest of her team may have word by now." Flack nodded to the three men currently standing watching the proceedings. They'd need to be interviewed.

Mac was determined to be the one. "Stella, you, Sheldon, and Adam take care of processing the scene. I'm going to talk to the feds."

"Ok, Mac." Stella's eyes were probing, and touched with the smallest hint of sympathy. Mac smiled to reassure her. "Yell if you need me."

Mac nodded and approached the senior FBI agent. "Agent Rossi, a few words."

Rossi frowned, seeing the Crime lab supervisor who'd spent the morning staring at Agent Prentiss. "Why are you here?"

"Sinclair wanted my team on this case." Mac said. "I wanted to start the interviews with you. What exactly happened?"

"Should you be on the case?" Rossi asked, bluntly. "With your CSI being one of our victims?"

"You think this is related to your case?" Mac asked.

"Don't you? Kind of a coincidence, wouldn't you say?" Rossi moved closer to their now bullet-riddled vehicle. "I don't believe in coincidences, Taylor."

"Neither do I." Mac said. "And I was told to take the case, so here we are. Didn't even know your team was involved. How is Agent Prentiss?"

"Don't know. Hotch took her to get looked at. Waiting for him to call." Rossi's eyes narrowed. "You've been focused on Agent Prentiss since meeting her."

"She's a beautiful woman."

"That looks like your wife." Rossi didn't sugarcoat. "You looking for a replacement?"

"Excuse me?" Mac stepped forward.

"You heard me. Our victims in this case are all brown-eyed brunettes. We believe the man we are looking for is physically fit, has a high-stressed job—probably in law enforcement. His type is brown-eyed brunettes. We believe he most likely had a long-term relationship with one, that for whatever reason, ended. So he's looking for a replacement. Stalks them, _watches _them. And then kills them." Rossi said, just the touch of arrogance in his words. He stepped closer, stepping into Mac's space. Mac didn't back down. "You've been watching Agent Prentiss since you met her."

"Are you implying…" Mac's words held a bit of a threat. Rossi's brow arched arrogantly. "Why would I have attacked my own CSI, then? _She _would have been able to identify me. And Danny would certainly have recognized me. Don't you have better things to do than look at me as a suspect?"

"UNSUB." Rossi corrected, stepping back. An arrogant smile touched his lips. "How do we even know it _was _the same guy who attacked your girl? There were several deviations in her case."

"Just do your job. And we'll do ours." Mac said, visibly calming himself.

"We'll do that." Rossi stepped back, nodded to Stella as she approached. "I'd be happy to give you a statement, while Det. Taylor talks with Dr. Reid and Agent Morgan. Then I'll be calling the hospital for an update on Emily."

Stella stayed with the older profiler, walking at his side as they approached the vehicle. "Do you really think Mac had something to do with this?"

Rossi looked at the beautiful woman beside him, smiled arrogantly. "Of course not."

"Then why all that?" Stella played politics beautifully, but this man made her feel the smallest bit of hostility without even trying.

"Just making sure." Rossi sighed as he looked at the FBI standard issue SUV. "Just having a bit of fun. At your friend's expense."

"Why?" Stella demanded, one hand rising to rest on her hip. Rossi wasn't immune to her, not at all. She was a _very _beautiful woman, he decided, who reminded him a great deal of Emily in manner. He liked that.

"Didn't particularly care for the way he was watching my colleague. Made her nervous." Rossi said. "We pulled in, parked. I opened my door first. Emily was just seconds behind me. I was in the passenger seat. Hotch was driving. Reid was in the middle. He always gets stuck there—the others gang up on him. Emily was immediately behind me. Morgan behind Hotch. I had just closed my door. Reached up and touched Emily's. Then she closed hers. Then the shots came."

"What did you do next?" Stella watched him as he talked his way through. He didn't touch anything, just mimed his actions.

"Pulled my weapon. Grabbed Em's shoulder. She already had her weapon out, as well. I pulled her toward me, while she reopened her door. It provided us with cover while we pulled back to the other side of the vehicle. But she'd already been hit." He touched his shirt unconsciously, where blood spray had stained the cotton material. He looked at it, frowned. It was Emily's blood. His friend's. A young woman he cared a great deal about. "Find this guy. And when you do, I want to speak to him."

He turned and walked away. Approached Derek and Reid.

Stella watched him, a wave of understanding and empathy hitting her. She loved her teammates, too. She turned back to work.


End file.
